By Ray Stern
By Ray Stern
By New Times
By Amy Silverman
By Stephen Lemons
By Stephen Lemons
By Monica Alonzo
By Chris Parker
"Sammy starts to crack up, he's slapping his knee, it's very infectious, and Bobby's giggling. I'm trying to hold it in, I'm almost splitting my sides. I wanted to pee! But I'll never forget that."
Vic and Cheri decided it was time for a new town. They got in the car, destination Vegas or Phoenix. Cheri nixed Vegas. Upon arrival in the Best Run City in the World, Vic nailed gigs at the Executive House in Scottsdale and the Colony Steakhouse on North Central and released two albums over the next couple years, Vic Caesar (recorded in "groovy stereo") and Vic Caesar Sings, now available at the more exclusive thrift shops.
In case you're wondering, this is no kitsch joke; the records are monsters. Vic throws his bodacious, Tom Jones-cum-Sinatra tenor into truly impressive versions of "The Joker," "Going Out of My Head" and a swaggering take of "Norwegian Wood" that simply must be heard to be believed. All backed by a power-packed, 15-piece band that burns, Charley.
In fact, Dick Van Dyke saw Vic and company at the steak house, loved him and ended up writing the liner notes to Vic's second release: "After listening to this album, you'll know why I'm such a fan."
In '66, Vic took a gig in Vegas opening a new joint called Caesars Palace, warming up for Andy Williams and the Ritz Brothers among others on the bill.
"My God, it was like being in Hollywood, four spotlights hit me. It was August 6, 1966. My wife's birthday. They had a fountain going in front of the stage, so I walk out and say, 'Hold it, cut the band.' I say, 'Would you mind turning off the water, I gotta go pee!' So that cracked the audience up and broke the ice."
Two years later, Vic became a partner in Caesar's Forum in downtown Phoenix. Though the place was short-lived, Vic says it swung.
It was a great ride for a year or so, but then the backhand of history struck the nation. And when the backhand of history strikes the nation, it strikes Vic Caesar.
"We were doing fine until the Tet Offensive," Vic explains in somber tones. "In '68-'69, something happened. They were bringing them home in body bags in droves. The convention in Chicago went bananas. They burned down Watts. Nobody wanted to go out anymore." Vic took more random bookings in Phoenix, more in Vegas, and, of course, with them come more stories. Here's a short one:
In April of '68, the Forum was in its death throes, and Vic's "chief counsel" was one Richard Kleindienst, future attorney general under Nixon. Kleindienst told Vic that Dick was coming to Phoenix to throw his hat in the ring, and invited him to perform at the event. He also revealed that Nixon's campaign slogan was "Nixon's the One."
The rest, as Vic will tell you, is history.
Setting aside his staunch Democratic loyalties, Vic wrote the simple, seven-word tune in 20 minutes, and when Nixon heard it at the rally (after some idiot came on before Vic and sang "The Impossible Dream"), he loved it. Life went on, Nixon won, and just days before the Inaugural, Vic got a telegram demanding his performing presence at an Inaugural ball. A Nehru-jacketed Vic and band made the scene, drove the crowd wild with "NTO." And then:
"All of a sudden, people are parting, and here comes Nixon with all the heavyweights--Agnew, Nelson Rockefeller, Barry Goldwater, Ronald Reagan, Bob Dole, Kissinger," says Vic. "He hugged me, and he says in my ear, 'You're a hard son of a bitch to get a hold of.' Then he says, 'Here we are because of your song.'" Pro trouper that he is, Vic allows a perfect, pregnant pause. "Because of your song. He loved me. He would have given me Delaware. He would have made me an ambassador."
I ask him if Nixon had bad breath.
"No, he talked to me two inches away. But you know who did have bad breath? Sidney Poitier. Wheeeeew! But Nixon? No, God, no."
Let's follow Vic into the '70s, one hell of a Caesarian section. His marriage, which produced Caesar spawn Bobby and Julie, is over. He "bullshitted my way into acting," doing sex-and-violence romps like Alice B. Goodbody, Gosh, Massacre Mafia Style ("The most violent picture ever made"), Bare Knuckles (he played a gay bartender) and The Executioners.
"We killed 48 people in that. The Hollywood Reporter said it was worth ten Godfather look-alikes," which I guess is a good thing.
Vic's got one of those rough, devilish, seen-it-all faces; you can imagine him easily in character roles. One night, he was at a party over at George Hamilton's place.
"Ryan O'Neal grabs me by the face and says, 'If I had this face, I'd be a superstar.' I grab him by the face and say, 'If I had this face, 'd be getting laid every night!'"